


Hors d'oeuvre

by CreamoCrop



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, basically just a jumbled mess of writings, tumblr ficlets, will add additional tags later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-21 14:04:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 11,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9552173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreamoCrop/pseuds/CreamoCrop
Summary: Collection of Sherlolly Ficlets (from tumblr, because apparently I have been in that site for a long time) that comes in different forms.





	1. Haters gonna hate

**Sherlock:** _*furiously typing on his laptop*_

 **John:** _*Just got in with little Rosie on his hips, sees tall, dark and brooding, slamming the keys in his laptop. Turns to his daughter.*_ Well, Rosie looks like Uncle Sherlock is in a bad mood again. Should we just go down and see if Nana Martha has some delicious cookies?

 **Molly:** _*Exits from the kitchen and walks up to them*_ Hi John. Hi Rosie, my sweetheart _*goes to take the giggling baby from her father*_ He's doing it again. I already tried telling him to stop but he's in too deep now.

 **John:** _*Sighs deeply then worriedly looks over at his former flat mate*_ How deep?

 **Molly:** _*Frowns then leans closer*_ I think he is tracking their IPs now.

 **John:** Okay, that's scary but also routine. He always does that when things like this happens.

 **Molly:** _*Huffs*_ No, I think he's...well, I think he is tracking them down _*Leans even more to whisper*_ and is shutting them one by one.

 **John:** _*whispers*_ He can't do that! _*Looks at his best friend who is still abusing his keyboard*_ Can he?

 **Sherlock:** _*Still very much engaged in his laptop*_ Doing it.

 **Molly:** _*Jumps away from John*_ Okay, that's my cue. I'll just take Rosie down to Mrs. Hudson for some sweet treats. _*Turns to the little pod of cuteness in her arms*_ Come on sweetie, let's leave Daddy and Uncle Sherlock to do their serious grown up talk. _*Looks up to John and whispers before leaving*_ Do something, please!

 **John:** _*Pats Molly in the arm as she turns to leave, then slowly walks to his chair*_ So...

 **Sherlock:** _*Still karate-chopping his keyboard*_ Nope.

 **John:** _*Lowers himself in his chair*_ You haven't even heard what I was about to say.

 **Sherlock:** _*Without looking away from his computer*_ Didn't need to. And the answer is still no.

 **John:** _*Beginning to feel frustrated*_ Sherlock, this is not healthy. You've been at it for almost a week now. Surely you've realized by now that engaging with them only makes things worse.

 **Sherlock:** _*Still drilling through his keys*_ Yes, which is why I am about to finish them off now. Except, you are bothering me so I have to portion part of my brain cells just to talk to you, instead of using all of them to finish this.

 **John:** _*definitely frustrated now*_ How are you finishing them off? By shutting them down? That's hacking, Sherlock! That's illegal!

 **Sherlock:** _*still hammering away*_ We both know I have done far worse.

 **John:** _*Sighs and then begins to massage his temples*_ Yes. Unfortunately, yes. But Sherlock! These are trolls, haters! As long as there is internet, they'll keep popping out no matter how many times you try to shut them down!

 **Sherlock:** _*Noncommittal voice*_ Yes. Yes. Uhuh. I agree. You are right.

 **John:** _*Huffs and sinks in his chair*_ Aaaaand you are not listening anymore. You know one of this days, that act of yours will get you in trouble.

 **Sherlock:** _*Definitely not paying attention*_ Yes. Yes. Uhuh. I agree. You are right.

 **John:** _*Throws his arms in the air*_ That's it, I give up. _*Reaches for his phone*_ I'm telling Mycroft what you are doing, just so he knows why there is a sudden increase of angry customer service calls on internet providers.

 **Sherlock:** _*Hammers through a few more keys before finally stopping and shutting down his laptop with a loud snap*_ No need.

_*As if on cue, approaching footsteps could be heard from the staircase*_

**John:** _*glares at the consulting detective*_ What did you do?

 **Sherlock:** _*Shrugs then looks around*_ Where's Molly?

 **John:** Sh-

 **Sherlock:** Ah yes, you brought your sprog. Did you tell her to bring up some gingernuts here?

 **John:** _*disbelievingly*_ No I di-

 **Mycroft:** _*Appears out of nowhere*_ William Sherlock Scott Holmes! What do you think you're doing?!?

 **Sherlock:** _*Turns to look at his brother*_ When Mrs. Hudson let you in, did you tell her to bring up some gingernuts with the tea?

 **Mycroft:** _*Strides in and stops in the middle of the room*_ Need I remind you that I have far more important things to do than arrest these _*takes out a piece of paper*_ haters of yours.

 **Sherlock:** Hmmm...guess you didn't. _*Shouting out*_ MRS. HUDSON, PLEASE BRING SOME GINGERNUTS WITH THE TEA!

 _*From Below*_ NOT YOUR HOUSEKEEPER, SHERLOCK!

_*Sherlock's phone rings immediately after*_

**Sherlock:** _*Answer's his phone*_ Molly can you tell her to bring some hob-

 **Molly:** Sherlock! Rosie's here! Don't scream! And Mrs. Hudson is not your housekeeper!

 **Sherlock:** _*Rolls his eyes*_ Mrs. Hudson screamed too! And she's down there with Rosie!

 **Molly:** I covered Rosie's ears! Now stop being a petulant child and listen to John and Mycroft. And no, Mrs. Hudson is not going to serve you tea. Go to the kitchen and prepare it yourself!

 **Sherlock:** _*whines*_ Bu-

 **Molly:** There is also a plate of gingernuts and hobnobs in there.

 **Sherlock:** And custard creams?

 **Molly:** And custard creams.

 **Sherlock:** _*Smiles*_ I love you

 **Mycroft:** _*groaning*_ Oh for Christ's sake!

 **Molly:** And I, you. _*hangs up*_

 **Mycroft:** Now that we are done with that cringe-worthy display of sentiment. Can we go back to the topic at hand?

 **Sherlock:** _*puts his phone away then immediately shots up from his chair to go to the kitchen*_ Nope

 **Mycroft:** Sherlock, you cannot keep doing this! You cannot keep disconnecting people and taking away their internet connection. You're disrupting the flow of information and the system.

 **Sherlock:** _*returning from the kitchen with a heaping plate of cookies*_ What flow of information? That apparently John and I are secretly engaged and that Molly is just my beard. That she is just here to hide the fact that John and I are secretly raising Rosie together? That Molly Hooper is a little morgue mouse that needs to be shut down because she's interfering with our great love? That Mary's dea- 

_*looks guiltily at John before turning back to his brother*_

There is no flow of information Mycroft. There is however, systematic character assassination towards important women in our lives. _*plops down his chair and shoves biscuits in his mouth*_

 **John:** _*grave*_ What are they saying about Mary? _*reaches for Sherlock's laptop*_

 **Sherlock:** _*stops eating and reaches out to firmly place his hand above his laptop and stare solemnly at his bestfriend*_

 **John:** _*holds his bestfriend's gaze for a few seconds before leaning back and turning to Mycroft*_ You know, if people can't properly use the internet, maybe it's for the best if they are kept off of it for a while.

 **Mycroft:** John, the internet is a complex system of neural net-

 **John:** Off of it. For. A. While. _*stares at Mycroft as if daring him to do otherwise*_

 **Mycroft:** _*Meets Dr. Watson's heavy gaze before turning to look at his brother who is also looking at him in the same way*_

...

 **Mycroft:** Fine. I suppose there's a solar flare that could be cooked up somewhere. _*Approaches Sherlock's work table and puts down the piece of paper*_ I am, however, drawing the line with arresting people. Unless they do something illegal, no one is going to jail. They'll simply have to live without internet connection for a week.

 **Sherlock:**  * _still munching despite consuming half of the treats*_ Based on their psychological profiles, a week without internet is a worse punishment than jail.

 **John:** Speaking from experience?

 

 **Sherlock:** _*raises a gingernut in the air before tossing it in his mouth*_

 

 


	2. Binary Fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Holmes is excited about a new discovery. Sherlock Holmes is even more excited.
> 
> Chaos ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This is really crackish. Sherlock did something not good. For what it's worth, I really don't think Sherlock would do something like this. But the idea was fun to write so....

 

 **Client:** ... so Mr. Holmes, you really have to help me! You are my only hope!

 **Sherlock:** _*Bored. Very bored*_ No. Go to Scotland Yard. Look for DI Lestrade. Now get out.

 **Client:** Mr. Holmes please, there is no one I can turn to!

 **Sherlock:** _*Utterly bored.*_ I hear they are is still in operation. Get out.

 **Client:** Really Mr Holmes, I will pay you as mu-

 **Sherlock mini-me:** _*Just got home from school*_ Daddy!!!

 **Sherlock:** _*Visibly brightens, opens arms to catch his running son.*_ Hello spawn. I take it you had a good time in your prison - I mean school.

 **The most adorable Holmes:** Yes, daddy! Today we learned how to do binary fingers!

 **Sherlock:** Wonderful! _*Sudden light bulb*_ Very well Mr. Whoever-you-are, since you desperately want to know who's stealing from you, I will give you a clue. You could tell it to Scotland Yard and they could surely solve your case.

 **Client:** Really, Mr. Holmes?

 **Sherlock:** The fact of the matter is, there are actually several people stealing from you. Seeing as you only have five employees, I think it would be beneficial to let you know how many of them are the thieves.

 **Client:** Mr. Holmes, can't you just tell me who they are?

 **Sherlock:** _*Already on the brink of ennui*_ Take it or leave it. Either I tell you how many, or I don't tell you anything at all.

 **Client:** _*Resigned*_ Very well Mr. Holmes. _*Now annoyed*_ But you can't expect me to pay you if you're not going to actually solve my case!

 **Sherlock:** _*No care in the world at all*_ I'm not expecting you to.

 ****...

 ****...

 **Client:** So? _*already impatient*_ How many thieves are there?

 **Sherlock:** _*Face breaks into an ear-splitting grin. Bends down to whisper to his son*_

 **The only innocent Holmes left:** _*Nods enthusiastically*_ Okay, daddy!

 **Sherlock:** _*Turns to the client with his bored face again.*_ My son will tell you how many thieves you have. _*Genuinely smiles at the little boy in his lap.*_ Go on spawn, show him!.

 **Really really the only innocent Holmes left in the world:** _*smiles then lifts his middle finger*_

 ****...

 ****...

 **Client:** _*shocked and discombobulated*_ You...you... _*face looking much like a tomato.*_ Youuuuu.... _*begins to stand up and glare at Sherlock.*_ How dare you! To use your son like that! Teaching him such ill manners! I don't need your help, after all! _*Storms out the door!*_

 ****...

 **Client:** _*turns back*_ I am warning you Mr. Holmes! Aside from going to the Yard, I am also calling child services! _*turns back to run down and make a hasty exit.*_

 **Cute little Holmes that makes you wish you can keep him in your pocket:** _*worriedly looking up at his father, with his big brown eyes.*_ Did I do something wrong, Daddy?

 **Sherlock:** _*bends down to kiss his son's forehead and pull him in a tighter hug*_ No. you didn't do anything wrong. That man is the one who did something wrong. He is a very bad man who developed a scheme to take money from unsuspecting people. Now, he is going to Scotland Yard and Uncle Greg will arrest him. _*kisses his son again*_ And you, just helped bring him to justice. Well done spawn!

 **Very huggable Holmes:** _*happier and more satisfied*_ Did I really help Daddy?

 **Sherlock:** _*smiling gently at his best creation.*_ You really did! Now! I believe you said something about binary fingers....

* * *

Later, after putting their little treasure to bed.  
 ****

 **Molly:** By the way, you are sleeping in the couch for the next two weeks.

 **Sherlock:** _*Surprised and confused*_ Oh come on Molly, it's not my fault if the man can't read binary fingers!

 **Molly:** _*tosses him his pillow and duvet.*_ Child services, Sherlock! If it weren't for Mycroft's intervention, Will wouldn't be sleeping in his bed tonight! And both of us know that you could have handled the situation in a better way, without making our son do that and without making it look like we're bad parents!

 **Sherlock:** How could encouraging our son to learn and apply new knowledge, a sign of bad parenting?

 **Molly:** _*Annoyed and disbelieving*_ Context, Sherlock! Context!

 **Sherlock:** Really, Molly you are blowing this up more than necessary.

 **Molly:** No I am not. You clearly need time to think about what you did. So until you fully process everything, you are sleeping on the couch. _*closes their bedroom door in her husband's face.*_

 **Sherlock:** _*Huffs in annoyance but makes his way to their couch.*_ There's nothing to think about!

* * *

Much later.

 **Sherlock:** _*Lying on the couch, wide awake.*_  Mmmm, so that's the reason why Aunt Felicia got angry at Dad when she asked me how old I was.


	3. Conditioning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The youngest Holmes has a big lesson to teach.

_*Sherlock dismissing Greg without saying thank you*_

**Mini-Sherlock stepping in the way** : Daddy you have to say ‘Thank You’ when people do nice things to you!

**Sherlock:**   _*Genuinely confused but also surprised by the vehemence in his mini-me’s voice*_  Why?

**Sherlock mini-me responding with a lecturing voice** : When you say thank you, they appreciate and that positive feeling encourages them to do the same thing again. Operant conditioning, daddy! Just like the dogs with the whistle.

**Sherlock:**  * _stunned by his mini-me*_

_*Sherlock mini-me, holding his father’s gaze, inevitably reminding his father of the same look he receives from his wife that says “Go on, we both know I can wait this out.”*_

**Sherlock:**  * _concedes and turns back to Lestrade*_  Thank you, Gizmo

_*A stunned Lestrade just nods as his mind tries to accommodate Sherlock thanking him and also being likened to a dog*_

**Sherlock:** _*Still recovering from being stunned by his mini-me, bends down to carry his tiny version*_ Come on spawn, I believe Mrs. Hudson has some gingernuts for you.

**A satisfied and excited mini-me Sherlock** : Yay, I love gingernuts!

While stepping downstairs, Sherlock can’t help but stare at his tiny version. Here is a little him that can spout advanced knowledge while saying adorable, polite things in one breathe. In his arms, he is carrying a little genius who is perfectly comfortable reciting the pi and then squealing in delight when his Granny H gives him fairy cakes. Here is a little boy who can deduce who among his playmates is lying, but chooses not to do so in public and instead confronts the guilty boy in a corner so that he can coax him into telling the truth, thus minimizing the kindergarten drama without damaging his social engagements (or as he like to call them: “my buddies”). He, Sherlock Holmes Mr-Alone-Protects-Me, has a well-adjusted genius son.

His heart swells with pride, but being Sherlock Holmes, it comes out as: "The dog with the whistle is an experiment by Ivan Pavlov and it’s for classical conditioning."

**Tiny Sherlock:**   _*giggling*_  Oh silly me! I got them confused! It’s the one with the cats!

**Sherlock:**  * _Stunned again by another manifestation of his son being a well adjusted boy who does not beat himself up when he gets things wrong, unlike a certain someone.*_  Yes, the one with the cats. It’s okay, you are still learning.

**Tiny Sherlock:**  * _Still excited about the prospect of eating his favorite nummies*_  I learned it from Mummy, she said we should appreciate people and when I asked her why, she told me it makes them feel good and then she told me the stories about the dogs and then the one about the cats. Mummy taught me so much! She’s brilliant!

**Sherlock:**  * _Already filled with so much pride for his son, becomes inundated with pride and gratitude for his wife.*_  Yes…she really is.


	4. Death discovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bitter sweet discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I don’t have the motivation and time to write a full fic, let me just share the plot bunny that had been running all over my brain since after I saw S4 ep 1 (and then maybe it will get out of my head).
> 
> This is just entirely me and my fantasy. Not even properly thought about or written

 

**_A bullet hole._ **

Blood seeping in white fabric.

No tricks, no concealment, just the inevitability of death.  

As the world turns white, reality distorts into a sunny seaside, where a little boy with light brown curly hair is squatting and seemingly observing something.

Without preamble, he turns around and looks up. 

“It’s not moving, mummy.” His blue eyes is wide with confusion, for his world is eternal. 

“Is it sleeping?” He has yet to grasp the concept of death. 

His little heart has not been marred by loss. Yet one look and it’s obvious that the animal is dead. 

The desire to protect him, to put him in a bubble where nothing ends and no one leaves, is overwhelming. 

But greater than the fear of loss and the fear of pain, is the beauty of death. 

When nothing is permanent, when there is no guarantee of forever, every second becomes precious. 

So, a kind voice responds. “It’s dead sweetheart.”

There are tears. Of course there will always be tears, and balled up tiny fists. 

Stomping of two short legs.

Hiccups for an animal that is not a pet and had not even existed until it entered his world, lying down in the sand, lifeless. 

There is nothing else to offer but warm arms and soothing assurances that there is a better place that holds a promise of meeting again. 

Soon the tears dry up, palms open up and hiccups disappear.

“What happens to it now?”

_Algor Mortis, Rigor Mortis, Livor Mortis. Gases buildup, it bloats, then deflates. The muscles disintegrate, the skin rips, guts and blood spill out, the bones turns dry and dark._

“We can bury it in a nice place so that the other animals can go and visit it when they are lonely or when they want to talk with it.”

There is a dry limestone cave nearby. A snug hole was dug and a string of weeds was offered. 

The little boy is standing straight in front of the simple mound. His hair is a wiry mess of wind swept curls, his cheeks is crossed with dry tear tracks, his nose is running but the glint in his eyes had changed. 

Understanding dawns.

A new aspect of life has been presented.

And it had to be understood. 

_Curiosity creeps._

But for now it is time to go home.

The trip back is more somber but grief peals away as the lights in the porch grew brighter. Soon, the trudging feet broke into a run as the little boy with sky eyes move towards a waiting figure.

“We saw a dead bird in the beach, daddy!”

Long, sinewy fingers reach down to ruffle the already tangled curls. 

“Do tell.” 

**_A familiar voice._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Psst… The mum knows a lot about dead bodies *wink* *wink* and the dad shows great interest, plus the voice and the hands *cough* *cough*)


	5. Defining moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it just have to be engineered.

**Molly:** Sh-Sherlock, what are you doing?

 **Sherlock:** Mmmmmm

 **Molly:** Ummm…you, wha-

 **Sherlock:** _*sigh*_ Shush Molly! You’re ruining our moment!

 **Molly:** WHAT? What mom-

 **Sherlock:** I said shush!

 **Molly:** Ummm…okay _*freezes like a statue*_

* * *

Meanwhile outside the door of the lab…

 **Mike:** Is there any logical explanation as to why Sherlock is cupping Molly’s face in between his hands and staring deep into her eyes like a long lost lover?

 **John:** _*shrugs*_ You heard the man. They’re having a _moment_.

 **Mike:** Well if it were any other man, I’d say that he’s trying to engineer a _moment_. But then again it’s Sherlock we’re talking about so… _*chuckles*_

 **John:** Ah not so fast mate.We are after all talking about the man who engineered his own death! So… _*grabs Mike’s shoulders and leads him away from the lab*_ …why don’t we just go to the cafeteria and get ourselves a nasty cup of coffee and let’s just leave those two to enjoy their “moment".


	6. Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On-the-spot challenge # 1: First line generator: “He had enjoyed ten years of being totally irresponsible.”

He had enjoyed ten years of being totally irresponsible.

Well, the word “enjoyed” is debatable, but he had indeed spent ten years of his life being carefree to the point of being careless.

The moment he had stepped into his flat - _he couldn’t even entertain the idea of living in a college dorm and having a_ roommate _, hence the flat c/o Mummy_ \- its as if the word “responsibility” never existed nor were the years of grilling and nagging that he had endured from Mummy, Martha and _Mykie_.

_Really he should have known that his life will be inundated with people having names starting with M._

It started out innocuously with dishes left unwashed and colored shirts mixed in with the whites. Soon, as the weeks of Uni life rolled off and the promise of a more challenging and engaging academic career under “ _esteemed_ ” professors, started to be eroded with the realization that Oxford was really just high-school all over again except that he can get away with cutting classes as much as he wants, his ability to commit and perform as expected of him deteriorated in an alarmingly quick fashion.

Assignments and readings were discarded on top of his dusty study table. Project meetings were ignored in favor of walking the streets searching for far more engaging mysteries. Exam days were almost forgotten if it weren’t for the glaringly red note in the wall calendar that was scribbled during the first days of classes. Even then, he’d show up 30 minutes late and leave an hour early.

His irresponsibility and bohemian laziness are the reasons why his classmates and professors either hates him or despairs for him.

The truth is, his natural genius and Mycroft are the only reasons why he had survived Oxford.

However, the credit of being able to keep Sherlock Holmes alive, goes to a faceless Samaritan.

By the second year of Uni life, his irresponsibility transcended into complete disregard of health and full mental capacity in exchange of short moments of bliss and being high. What started out as a few hits turned into almost a decade of battling with drugs and the need to get high.

It was a month after his 28th birthday when his negligent behavior came to a peak. It was just a week after his fourth release from rehab and though he had looked Mummy in the eyes and swore that it would be the last time, the itch had already come back with a vengeance.

And with vengeance did he succumb to it.

“Addicts will always be addicts” as his dealer said with a hell-bent knowing smirk while handing him a bag of “the good stuff”.

The combination of boredom, need, deprivation, disappointment and guilt from being unable to resist going down the rabbit hole _again,_ had driven him into the brink of overdosing in a dark and filthy alleyway.

He couldn’t remember anything much afterwards, except that it had been very dark and very cold. It felt like being stuffed in a mile wide coffin where it seemed like he simultaneously occupies all and no space in the world at all.

That unnamed alleyway was his frozen hell.

The only other thing he remembers is the flash of white moving back and forth in his muddied vision and the seemingly unearthly voice producing garbled words, of which he had only made sense of one.

**“ _Hello…hello_ ”**

A week later he woke up in a too bright hospital room, with Mummy heaving on his left, Dad squeezing his hand to his right and Mycroft walking out of the room to call the doctor.

That singular close call ended his decade of irresponsibility.

He now has five years of sobriety which he happily flings into Anderson’s way whenever the man feels like it’s his task to remind everyone of his past addiction.

Gavin (George? Geoff?) Lestrade had already made it a habit to include him on investigations wherein the DI felt like he had hit a wall - which is most of the time. Because of this, he is finally gaining notoriety as a consulting detective.

At long last it finally felt like he is doing what he had been born to do. It doesn’t hurt either that the crime investigations is keeping the itch at bay. As passing days bury his drug history into the past, Gabriel (Gary? Gil?) is becoming more and more liberal when it comes to his access of the crime investigations.

Today, he is finally allowed to see the body of the victim. It’s unfortunate that he didn’t see it while it was still at the scene of the crime but for now he has to make do with his situation. Once he had proven to Gino (Gian? Glen?) that he can come up with analysis faster than the assigned forensic pathologist, the DI will see the error of his ways.

He might even be able to convince the detective to help him obtain permissions to conduct autopsy and experiments. If not, Mycroft will be able to do it, he still has some dishes that he could serve on the blackmail plate.

The possibilities are making him giddy.

God, he only hopes that the assigned pathologist is even an ounce more intelligent than Anderson. It will make things infinitely better and easier for him. On the other hand, he could just as easily drive the pathologist away in much the same way that he made his former lab mates quit upon the fact that they don’t know which ethanol to pour first.

“Please don’t let me be right when I think that your smirk means your planning to act here in the same way that you have acted at the station.” Godfrey (Gerald? Gunther?) said as he cut in front in order to deny him access to the morgue door.

“I will act as I think appropriate.” Especially around medical practitioners pretending to know more than they do.

“Listen, Sherlock. I only allowed you to come with me here because I know that you will be able to give more input once you see the body. But - ” Grant (Grover? Graham?) raised his hand to emphasize his point. “I will not tolerate it if you insult Dr. Hooper in the same way that you did to Anderson. Dr. Hooper is the youngest pathologist to ever be given a position here in St. Bart’s after graduating top of her class and she should be respected for that.”

To this, he couldn’t help but snort. “There will be no insulting.”

“Thank you!” (Guiseppe? Oh for heaven’s sake!) Lestrade said with visible relief.

“Unless she deserves it.” He said as he side stepped the DI in order to open the door to the morgue.

With brisk steps he entered the cold room with a single goal in mind, to examine the body under the white sheets laid out in the table a few feet in front of him.

However, before he can reach his destination, a flurry of white blocked his path. Certain that it was the entity referred to as “Dr. Hooper”, he raised his head, ready to meet _and remove_ the person blocking his intended trajectory.

His formulated words however, never made his tongue dance as Dr. Hooper’s voice echoed first.

**_“Hello”_ **


	7. Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's in the heart of the beholder.

He had once confessed that he was unaware of the beautiful.

  
 _Was._  

  
As the saying goes, _‘The first step to solving a problem is acknowledging it’_ and although the circumstances that had awakened him from this ignorance can’t be fully quantified such that it can become a viable evidence to support the validity of the saying - John’s wedding was too chaotic to trigger an instantaneous effect - it’s suffice to say that his confession had marked the beginning. 

  
Although he is yet to fully grasp the notion of intense pleasure given by meaningful aesthetics, his understanding of beauty is now anchored on a single existence - that of Molly Hooper.

  
Mycroft had scoffed when he declared it during one of their discussions. With his usual higher-than-thou attitude, his older brother tried to challenge his position.

  
_'Ah yes, I can see the resemblance with Venus de Milo. Perhaps I shall advice the Musee de Louvre that it’s time to retire The Mona Lisa. Also, I’ll have Anthea write a missive notifying Versailles that their garden is plebian, at best.’_

_  
_His brother’s snark was delivered full force and his jab at Sherlock’s thought was only made sharper as it passed underneath his aquiline nose. At any other time, his high-handed remark would have been immediately countered by the detective, but to Sherlock’s surprise, the retort didn’t come instantly. What occupied him instead, was a feeling he never thought he would experience _for_ his brother. 

  
Pity.

  
_'William Sherlock Scott Holmes pitying Mycroft Siger Holmes? Banish the thought!’_

__  
And so he did.  
  


As reality consumed his being, Mycroft’s face twisted into a look of disbelief - a look that surely reflected his own. There was no time however, to delve further into this development and all he could do, was stare at his brother’s face as they morphed into edges and shapes.   
  


However, his last thought was consumed by the tendrils of light brown hair and a wisp of white cloth disappearing into a corner.  
  


He had opened his eyes to an elaborate show of dancing motes suspended in the rays of the sun escaping from his window. The stillness that had blanketed his flat gave him respite as he tried to reign in his body’s response to the surprise that his mind had unceremoniously revealed.   
  


_He pitied Mycroft_ \- or at least the mind palace version of him, all because he cannot grasp the concept of finding immense satisfaction in the form of an admittedly imperfect human, enough to reject art’s notion of symmetry, balance and grandeur as measures of beauty. He felt sympathy for his brother who had not experienced warmth spread through his chest upon seeing small lips stretch into a timid smile. The older Holmes had never been filled by contentment brought by the sight of a pale nape illuminated by moonlight. Nor had he ever bore witness to the flowing of teardrops - tiny, shining, globules - that are too beautiful to look at that it hurts.    
  


A hum reverbrated from his chest as he recalled the old adage, _'Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.’_  
  


Sherlock may have been ignorant of it for a time, but at least now he has this kind of beauty that only he can appreciate.   
  


* * *

”So, what did you find in that Mind Palace of yours? Anything useful?”  
  


John’s voice broke through the haze he had put himself into. As the world returned from the past, the sickly sweet smell of decomposing bodies was the first one to assault his senses. Next was the humdrum of a busy crime scene milling with humans whose soul purpose seems to be to create as much noise as possible. What comes after was the chill and grittiness of the Thames air. The last thing he became aware of was the expectant stares from four pairs of eyes.   
  


One by one he met each gaze, starting with Lestrade who was standing opposite him at the other end of the semi-circle they had formed around the corpses. The DI was tired, weary and apprehensive of this new macabre case. Standing next to him was Anderson. With a rigid posture, poised hands equipped with a notebook and pen, and dilated eyes, the man was clearly more excited than his boss. In contrast, Donovan seemed resigned. She was standing there only out of obligation. Something else was bothering her and she’d clearly rather be somewhere else. The consulting detective was positive that he could try figuring out her deal, but he can’t be bothered.   
  


There were far more important things to figure out.   
  


Finally, his focus fell on John whose question he’s yet to answer.  
  


“Come on, Sherlock. Share your thoughts.” The doctor’s voice had a hint of urgency. The older man was clearly getting a little impatient.   
  


_'Indeed…’_   
  


He held John’s gaze for a few seconds before turning to look down at the bloody corpses. Another half a minute had passed before he raised his head and turn to the war veteran.  
  


“It’s quite ugly, isn’t it?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I was supposed to type a story that I had penned in my notebook, so I opened ZenWriter and lo and behold there was an unfinished story there. I decided to take a look and scroll up, only to be surprised that it got quite long already. I decided to read it and surprisingly got into it (because usually I really hate rereading previous things I have written).
> 
> Then I got into the last paragraph that I had written and surprise…surprise, it was a cliff hanger.
> 
> But I forgot how I wanted the story to be resolved!
> 
> I can’t believe I just “cliffhanger-ed” myself!!!
> 
> Anyways, here is a part of that story. Hopefully my muse comes back so that I can continue writing this.


	8. Let it burn.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smoke can do more damage than the actual fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Chapter 8 of The Spare Room excerpt…
> 
> This little gem right here, had been waiting for a looong time to be published already! But the whole chapter isn’t finished yet sooo this had been acting like a sitting duck in my folder. "
> 
> That's what she said, but two years had passed and she still hadn't finished it...

_Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating every corner and casting away shadows. Cool breeze swirled around and distributed a sweet fragrance that made him sag deeper into the couch where he laid.  However, none of it mattered –nothing, except for the comforting weight pressed against him._

_“You’re so light. Why are you so light?”_

_He felt small puffs of hot air against his chest. “You said I gained a few pounds.”_

_“That was more than a year ago.” With every movement of his fingers that was treading within smooth brown waves, the sweet smell became stronger. “You’ve lost weight since then.”_

_Small fingers began to trace circles and infinity signs at the skin just above his heart. “You never told me that.”_

_“You’re BMI was still in the normal range. There’s no point in telling you.”_

_The weight against him lightened as he found himself staring at a pair of brown eyes. “So it’s alright for you to tell me when I am gaining weight but you can’t find a reason to tell me when I lose weight?”_

_Her little pout somehow lifted the corners of his mouth. His left hand reached for a few strands of her brown hair that had fallen and curtained his face from the brightness of the room. “Yes.”_

_“That’s not fair.”_

_His right arm tightened its grip around her torso as his left fingers abandoned the smooth strands in favour of tracing the outline of her lower lip._

_“Are your lips as soft as they look?”_

_“Why are you suddenly interested? I thought you said it’s small.” Her hands that rested on his chest began to ascend up his neck and past his cheeks until they were buried in his erratic curls. She moved her fingers back and forth in a light, dragging motion that sent shivers down his spine._

_“They are small.” He said as he let his thumb, busy with memorizing the plains of her lips, mimicked the slow movement of her fingers in his hair. “But because of that, your beautiful eyes stood out more.”_

_The affronted look in her face immediately vanished as surprise took over. “You think my eyes are beautiful?”_

_His right arm left her waist as he brought both of his hands to cup her face._

_“Exceptional.”_

_Immediately, her face lit with a radiant smile. It almost blended with the brightness of the room, but it wasn’t as blinding._

_That was when it hit him._

Forever.

_There was a promise hidden within that moment. He just needs to take hold of it and never let go._

_She continued caressing his hair while his hands moved from her face down to her neck, stopping underneath her shoulder blades to trace the protruding bones before moving to follow the path down her spine._

_Everything was perfect, except perhaps from the slight discomfort of being pinned down for too long and for the slight pressure building within his ears. He would have to make her move soon. But not yet. He wanted this._

_He craved for this._

_Eventually though, she got tired too and moved back to tuck her head underneath his chin._

_His discomfort eased, and he was able to take deeper breathes, but the pressure in his ears continued to build._

_“Sherlock?”_

_Her sweet voice distracted him from the ringing that had started to echo in his ears._

_“Yes?”_

_He felt her speaking but it was muffled by his chest._

_“Can you please repeat that?” He asked, as the pressure and the discomfort in his ears increased._

_She moved her head away from his chest. “I……”_

_He knows she was speaking because he could feel the vibrations from her neck, but the ringing in his ears intensified and the pressure reminded him of the reason why he hates flying._

_“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”_

_She huffed as she pulled up from her position and looked at his face. He wanted to look unaffected, but the moment she opened her mouth, the pain in his ears intensified and he had a hard time focusing on her._

_“I….you.”_

_“I’m sorry, my ears are…” He tried to lift his arm to point at his ears but it felt like lead and it instead dropped to his side._

_She however, remained clueless and began to speak again._

_“I…heart…you.”_

_“Molly I…” The pain in his ears had started to feel like it’s tearing his skull in half. He wanted to tell her what was happening but almost all of his muscles had turned stiff. Speaking had become impossible. He could not even wince in pain. He laid there, like a rag doll while she remained oblivious._

_With a huff, she leaned forward with the intention of whispering at his ear. He wanted to make her stop because her action would only restrict his chest and he was in desperate need of oxygen, but he remained limbless._

_Her breath ghosted against his neck and her lips brushed against his ears but instead of warmth, her kiss stung like ice._

_Instead of a sweet voice, what he heard was a curse in a familiar lilt._

“ ** _I_  **will burn the ** _heart_**  out of  ** _you_**.”

**————————————————————————————————**

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was black smoke and dancing flames


	9. Peng-guin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are just some words that are hard to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, another version of Hooper-Holmes babies! Featuring adorable little-miss-know-it-all, Alice Holmes and ain't-I-just-the-most-adorable-baby-in-the-whole-wide-world, Eddie Holmes.

**Alice:** “Peng-guin”

 **Sherlock:** “Peng-wing”

 **Alice:** “Listen to me. PENG -GUIN”

 **Sherlock:** “Peng-ling”

 **Alice:** _*heavy sigh*_ “Again, PENG -GUH-WEEEN”

 **Sherlock:** “PENG-GUH…GUH…LING”

 **Alice:** “NO DADDY! Listen to me…Peng-guh-ween. Penguin! See, its easy! Now you try.”

 **Sherlock:** “Okay. Peng-guh-ween. Pengween! Did I get it right?”

 **Alice:** “No silly, you didn’t.”

 **Sherlock:** “Well, its just hard to say!”

 **Alice:** “No its not! I’m thwee and I can say it! Mommy can say it and even little Eddie can say it.”

 **Eddie:** “PENGUIN!” _*hearty giggles from the crib at the corner of the room"*_

 **Alice:** “See, he is only 1 yew old and he can say it!”

 **Sherlock:** “Well, its just too hard for me!”

 **Molly:** “Alice sweetheart, maybe if you give daddy a sweet kiss then you could pass your ability to say penguins correctly to him!

 **Alice:** _*MWAHHH*_ "There daddy, now try saying it!”

 **Sherlock:** “Okay. PENG - _*pauses for dramatic effect*_ \- GUH _*stares at the face of his wide-eyed and hopeful daughter*_ -WEEN _*catches his wife as she rolls her eyes at his present antics*_

…  
….  
….  
….

 **Sherlock:** PENGLING!”

 **Alice:** *sigh* “Well, you"ll get it soon daddy” _*pats her dad and kisses him before walking away and going near her brother’s crib to play*_

 **Molly:** “Yeah, you’ll surely get it soon _Daddy_ ”

 **Sherlock:** “You know, maybe if I get another kiss from someone else who knows how to pronounce it correctly, then maybe I’ll get it right this time.”

 **Molly:** *smirks* “Well you gotta stand on your own and get Eddie because I am not standing up from my comfortable position in the couch.”

 **Sherlock:** _*leans forward*_ “Depriving me of my chance to learn a very vital and crucial word, what kind of wife had you become Molly Hooper -Holmes?” _*leans further forward*_

 **Molly:** _*slowly leans forward*_ “Only the best kind Mr Holmes.”

-from a small corner of the room-

 **Alice:** _*big sigh*_ “They are doing kissy faces again Eddie…ewww”

 **Eddie:** “KISSYYYYY” _*giggles*_


	10. Infallible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories are a tricky thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the universe where Molly left after The Fall.

**John:** Why did you do that?

 **Molly:**  Do what?

 **John:** Why did you- I just don’t understand.

 **Molly:** Um…what?

 **John:** Why did you have to introduce yourself to him like that? You just…went up to him like he doesn’t know you. " _Hi, I’m Molly…Molly Hooper from St. Bart’s morgue._ “ Was that really necessary? 

 **Molly:** John-

 **John:**  It’s like you you’ve never worked with him for  _seven years!_ Goodness Molly, you’re the one who  _saved him!_  You’re the one who sheltered him when he was, you know. So…why?

 **Molly:** John, I wasn’t trying to be mean or hurtful when I did that. I was just- You of all people should know why I did that!

 **John:** But I don’t!

 **Molly:** It’s been three years already, John. I was just playing it safe. You know how he hates cluttering his mind palace with useless information. 

 **John:**   _Useless_ \- Molly! 

 **Molly:** Oh come on John! He had known Greg longer than me and he’s with him most of the time and he never left! But Sherlock still calls him Garrett or George. 

 **John:** Molly-

 **Molly:** For all I know, all he remembers was that _faceless_  woman who fetched coffee for him when he was in the morgue and who was there when he needed to switch bodies and commit fake suicide. Really, John, it’s nothing. I get him. I understand if that’s all that he remembers _*small smile*_

  
**John: _*_** _rendered speechless*_   


**Mary:** Molly, come on! Charlotte’s wearing the cute onesies you brought for her.

 **Molly: _*_** _smiles and reaches out to squeeze John’s shoulder*_ It’s okay John. I remember enough memories for the both of us! _*walks away with Mary*_

 **John:** _*looks at his former flatmate who is sitting silently in his chair and murmurs to himself*_  Except, he remembers enough too…

* * *

_**A month ago** _

_**Sherlock:** *slips an envelope across the table* You forgot this._

 

_**John:** That can’t be possible, I already mailed all the invitations. I double checked them. All fifteen invitations were already sent!_

 

_**Sherlock:** *nudges the envelope further across* You. Forgot. This. *Stares hard at John before turning around and leaving.*_

 

_Perplexed with the behaviour of his friend, John took the envelope and turned it around in the hopes of learning the reason behind another one of Sherlock’s odd actions._

 

__**John:**  Oh…_ _

 

_There, on the smooth white surface was the elegant handwriting of his wife -or at least a masterful copy of it- etching a name he knew too well._

 

_**Margaret Ann Hooper** _


	11. Got my eyes on you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock can be pretty overwhelming at times. 
> 
> Especially now that she's pregnant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much of a ficlet, actually. More of an imagination of how Sherlock would act when Molly becomes pregnant.

Sit - SH

Sighing, she looks around and upon finding that Sherlock is nowhere near or within the lab, she stares hard at the CCTV at the corner wall. She then pulls a chair and sits on it without breaking her stare contest at the machine and at the man she knows is keeping tabs on her even if he should really be more focused on the case that he is currently working on.

* * *

 

A few days after, Molly is back again in the lab, but this time Mike Stamford is also present, and then Sherlock (with his usual dramatic flare) enters, sweeps through the morgue, stands beside Molly, pulls a chair and waits for her to sit down - all done with typical Holmes’ fluid grace.

Molly merely sighs and goes to sit down while Mike just stares at them in confusion. Sherlock on the other hand just proceeds with his experiments and engages Stamford in a conversation regarding post mortem bruising while somehow finding a way to insert in their conversation his idea that three month pregnant woman should already take leave of absence.

In the background, Molly sighs louder.

* * *

 

Fast forward to a few days, Molly is in Baker Street and is serving tea to Lestrade who is waiting for the return of a consulting detective when suddenly his phone rings. He answers it but then his face scrunches up and he looks up to Molly and points to his phone.

“Molly, it’s Sherlock and he says that yo-”

Molly throws her hands in the air and stomps towards Sherlock’s sofa, while exclaiming “Oh for heaven’s sake!”

Lestrade looks on, confused and clueless, as Molly lowers herself to the sofa and sits. The moment she is already sitted, she gestures to him and says “Go on, tell him.”

The DI, who still has no idea what is happening, turns to his phone again. “Yeah, she is already sitted.” Before he can inquire further, Sherlock already ended the call.

Without waiting for Greg to ask the question, Molly started to address it.

“He just always knows! I dont know how he does it but he just always knows if I had been standing for too long! Frankly, it gets quiet annoying sometimes. Especially when he rings other people just to tell me to sit. Just yesterday, I was waiting for the train when a woman beside me answered her phone, only to find out that it is a stranger commanding her to tell the pregnant woman beside her to sit down because apparently she had been on her feet for too long!”

While Molly is ranting, Lestrade is just sitting in his chair, finding the whole thing funny and also quite creepy.

“Of course I suspect that he is using Mycroft’s access on the city’s survaillance and I already have half the mind to report them to their mother, but even at places where there are no CCTV, he still knows what I am doing. Goodness, it really pays to be married to a genius.”

As Molly’s rant comes to a close, Greg merely sits there with a smile on his face as he recalls his own antics during his wife’s first pregnancy. On the other hand, Molly who has just finished exhausting and delivering her compliants, is a picture of a wife that is both annoyed and happy from all the attention that she’s getting.

Silence descended upon the two contemplative figures. However it was soon broken by the shrill ringtone of Molly’s phone signaling that she has a text from her dsear husband.

Perks of being married to me, Molly Holmes - SH


	12. How would you kill me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly is curious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was posted back in 2014. Due to recent developments *ehem*coffin smashing *ehem*, this had a greater effect on me now. :)

“How would you kill me?

…

"You said before, at John and Mary’s wedding, that you plan murder as mental exercise. John through poisoning, your brother by choking - too much sibling rivalry eh! *giggles* So what about me?

…

"Just - you know, so I can protect myself” *giggles*

…

“Not that- that I think you’ll actually do it! Um…just for the heck of finding out how I’ll die at your hands.”

…

“I mean HYPOTHETICALLY- sorry- hypothetically…die at your …hands.”

…

“Ahh…Sherlock?”

…

“Sherlock?”

…

“You’re in your mind palace again, aren’t you?”

…

*sigh*

…

…

…  
  
“I never thought of it…not to you”

A blur. An empty seat. A closed door.

A stunned pathologist.

“Oh”


	13. Don't go where I can't see you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She really likes his stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a short, angsty retire!lock written back in 2014!

“Don’t…Don’t go where I can’t see you.”

“It’s okay Sherlock, I’m just going to walk around the grounds.”

The retired consulting detective watched as his pathologist turned around to continue walking down the path. He stared as she ran her fingers on top of the flower bush, gingerly brushing the smooth surface of the petals as she passed by them.

He looked as she continued to move ten, eleven, twelve steps ahead of him.

He remained rooted as she twirled around to look back to him.

“Keep up Mr. Consulting Detective, you’ve yet to tell me about that case. What was it called? Oh, right! The Empty Hearse”

He stood still as Molly Hooper-Holmes turned her back to him. With a spring on each step, she continued to increase the distance between them, oblivious to the fact that he was yet to follow and that he had already told that story to her.

For the fifth time that day.


	14. Mrs. Hudson's concerto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The melody has changed.

Before those dreadful two years, there were times when Mrs. Hudson wished for nothing more than for all the violins in the world to disappear, especially the one that had become her constant cause of anxiety. When she first saw the old but well-lacquered, beautiful violin, it had never occurred to her that such an elegant thing could become an instrument of torture. Years later, on the night when it had become official that 221 B is empty of tenants (the first one’s dead, the other one’s better off dead), she found herself straining to hear even a sliver of disjointed notes.

Eventually it became harder to determine which was more disconcerting, the silence or the fact that such state now existed on the room above. However, it was very easy to admit that a full Brahms concerto was better than the 2am silence.

She had lived with this mindset for two years, which was why when dear Sherlock had returned, it was with fondness that she welcomed the midnight concertos.

Except, it wasn’t her concertos anymore (it never really was, but she’s the landlady who had to suffer through it and that gives her the right to claim it as much as she wants). In the same way that it’s not really the old violin’s performance anymore. For the night’s play are now courtesy of the brand new speakers connected to Sherlock’s phone.

The melody has changed as well. Soft creaks and rhythmic shuffling now accompanies the tender notes of the concertos. Every now and then a girlish giggle or a low chuckle would break through but most of the time, it was just the music and the soft swaying.

A soft smile breaks through the landlady’s face as she thinks of the old violin up above. Like her, it’s probably sitting in the corner as well, acting as a witness as two figures dance the night away, mindful of the sweet music, but entirely focused on the rhythm of their hearts. 

 


	15. What Billy sees.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a skull has its merits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always thought that Billy the skull isn’t just a random skull that Sherlock found and decided to keep as a companion. I always believed that there was a reason, a dramatic reason (given Sherlock’s flare for such things), why he was chosen by the consulting detective. Perhaps he was part of the remains of a villain that made a huge impact to the consulting detective.
> 
> \-----  
> This was written three years ago. Huh.

Being a skull is harder than it looks. During his living days, Billy had to support the brain of a nefarious, but quite frankly, genius character. Unfortunately for his owner, just as he had reached the prime days of his crime, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade had finally made the pact with “good old Lucy” (as Billy’s previous owner fondly called his best friend) and had let loose a fresh-from-the-rehab Sherlock Holmes in the streets of London.

His owner, as brilliant and cunning as he was, never stood a chance with the world’s consulting detective. For a week, Billy saw, heard, smelt, tasted and felt his owner’s anger and grief from being deprived the chance of executing all the horrendous crimes he had planned. However, the man was a genius, a _unique genius,_ and he had quickly acknowledged his impending downfall. This humility of his, a trait rarely found in the breed of humans where he and Sherlock Holmes belongs to, had allowed him to make the necessary preparations.

Preparations which gave him the highest honor that no other human in the whole world could ever have – being a skull mantelpiece in the world’s only consulting detective’s house.

This merit had allowed Billy to witness tremendous and life-altering happenings in the on-going biography of the consulting detective. From the days of shooting the walls, his death and resurrection, and now during his marital bliss,  Billy have the front row seat for seeing all the momentous occasions in the man’s life.

That includes what he is currently seeing.

Sherlock Holmes being drooled at by his 8 month old son.


	16. Stubborn Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because he just had to drink the damned potion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this one was written on June of 2014. Too lazy then, still lazy now.

Stubborn Sherlock drinking an experimental potion that turned him back into a 4 year old.

Poor John had to pretend that little nephew “William” is going to spend the weekend with them.

Naughty Mary teasing her husband that in an event that no cure is formulated by Mycroft’s man, then at least they’ll get to raise a genius child and maybe this time, he’ll grow up and not become an obnoxious git.

Cute little Will being curious at eveything…EVERYTHING. (“Jawn, wat’s dis? *holds up a revolver*).

Cute little Will instantly taking a liking at Molly. (“You’re so pwetty! I like you!)

Kind Molly instantly liking cute little Will as well. (“Wow, John…he looks just like Sherlock, acts like him as well!”)

Cute little Will trying to push away the new oncologist hitting on Molly. (No no no! Go away, she’s my Molly!)

Cute little Will throwing a tantrum after being told that they have to leave Barts and go home. (No no no…I don wanna go home yet…I wanna stay wid my Molly *tightens his hold on Molly’s leg)

Sweet Molly taking pity on the crying red faced little boy. (“Oh you poor little thing. If it’s okay with your Uncle John, you could stay with me tonight.)

Cute little William staring at his “uncle” John with tear stained doe eyes. (“Pwease Uncle John, pwease.”)

Poor John, finding the situation both funny and weird.

Maternal Molly taking good care of John’s little nephew (that seriously reminds her of a certain consulting detective that’s currently abroad) and cooks spaghetti for him, plays with him, and reads his favorite pirate book as a bed time story (while wondering if this is how it looks and feels like…)

Sleepy little William cuddling with his Molly and telling her his future plan. (“When I grow up, I’m gonna marry my Molly”)

Fascinated Molly smiling at the sweet silly little boy. (“Okay honey, but for now…you have to go to sleep so you’ll grow up fast!”)

….

Molly waking up the next day only to fall from her bed, upon seeing the definitely not small, other occupant of her mattress.

…

A few weeks later, a full grown Sherlock Holmes approaches Molly and places a thick binder in front of her.

“So, purple or blue?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Focus Molly! Again, will it be purple or blue?”  
  
“Ummm…For what Sherlock?”

*sigh* “The theme Molly. We need to decide the color of the theme.”

“Still not getting it Sherlock, theme for what?”

“The wedding, Molly. The theme color for our wedding…”

*huge smirk*

“…after all, little Will is all grown up now.”


	17. Mine!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- In which 11 month old Evan Hooper-Holmes fights for his rightful ownership of the scarf. -

A pair of aquamarine eyes stared at the expanse of the sitting room, until they fell upon the blue scarf carelessly draped over the sofa. Slowly but surely, a course of action was laid out, the mission was very delicate after all. 

With agility that can only be gained by experience, he made his way across the room, expertly avoiding the overturned Persian slippers, the toppled wooden blocks and the large protruding body of the lethargic house cat.

Alas, after overcoming the numerous hurdles, victory was at hand in the form of the worn out, but soft material. Without hesitation, he claimed his price, mindful of the days since he was able to touch the clothing. It had been far too long since the scarf got lost in the mess of their domesticated dwelling.

As his hand traveled through the plains of the soft material, he swore never to lose sight of it again.

Ever.

* * *

_“Oh Evan, look at you! All bundled up in Daddy’s scarf, again!”_


	18. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Molly was there when he was saying goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written January 9 2014

“Molly, look at me. I need you to look at me and listen to me carefully, because I am only going to say this once. I will never say it again and if asked or threatened, I will _deny_ ever saying it.”

His grip over both of her arms tightened, a gesture of great poetic irony, seeing how everything was slipping out of his hands.

“But I want you to know that my silence and denial won’t make it _any less true.”_

He is an excellent liar. They both know how deceptive he could get. But unlike the rest of the world, he is proud of it. Because it makes him one of the few people who tells the truth, only when it matters the most.

“Molly Hooper, if there is anyone- _if_ …there could have been anyone-”

It felt like jumping again. Her brown eyes reminded him of that dark pavement at St. Bart’s. This time , however, he willingly takes the fall. For the second time since he knew her, he allowed gravity to take over him.

“STOP!”

The moment of his graceful fall was disrupted by her small, but firm voice. The recoil came too fast. Hurts too fast, as well.

“What?”

A pair of hands came to rest on top of his. Through his skin, he could feel the warmth spreading from her small hands to his blood-deprived white knuckles.

“I’m not- I may not be as smart as you are but I know things. I understand things and… _people_.”

Her voice was barely audible but somehow, it’s the only one he could hear in the midst of the busy airfield.

“ _I understand you._ ”

For a moment he was there in the middle of a fall, suspended in mid-air, held only by a pair of brown eyes as support.

“I know what you are going to say. I guess, deep down, I’ve always known what you are going to say. I just never fully believed that it can be with… _me_.”

The corner of her lips lifted up for a fraction. It could have been a smile, but it might just as well be turned upside down. Same effect.

“If that’s the case, then why did you stop me?”

The fall could have been easier and faster. He wouldn’t have to experience the pain of hanging on. A part of him, however, chides that it’s only fair.

“Because now…now that you are saying goodbye, I just don’t want you to be anymore _liable_ …”

But that’s the point. It’s exactly the reason why he had to say it, f _or the first and last time._

 "…and for me to be any less _gullible_.“

_Oh._


	19. Scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from hihiyas: Sherlock and Molly trading scary stories on a dark and stormy night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written: Oct 28 2013

“No.”

“Yes!”

 _“NO!_ ”

“Oh come on Sherlock! It’s the perfect setting! Look, even the weather agrees with me.”

“The storm had been going on for three days. You have only come up with that suggestion three minutes ago.”

“Fine, but it’s the prefect setting! The wind is howling, raindrops are pounding on the pavement like mortars and the power is out. Everything is practically screaming _Halloween_!”

“All I am hearing is a ghastly storm banging the windows.”

Molly sighed as she looked at the ghostly outline of her boyfriend, who was sitting at his favorite chair, away from the light and warmth of the single candlestick that she managed to scavenge when the power went out. They had been spending a quite night in 221 B, with her curled on the sofa and reading a book while Sherlock taps away on his laptop, when the lights went off. Sherlock went on with his work, not giving any damn with the darkness that had enveloped their flat. The only time he looked up was when the battery of his laptop finally gave out. By then, Molly had already stubbed her toe, banged her elbows and stepped on Toby during her search for a candle and lighter.

“Please, Sherlock?”

There, she used her whiny voice, he can’t _possibly_ refuse her now.

“It is an insipid activity done during a frankly, useless holiday. Forgive me if I am not interested in wasting my time.”

Molly pouted as she watched the dark silhouette of her boyfriend, as he expressed his displeasure over her suggestion of sharing scary stories as a way to pass the time. With his laptop out of commission and his phone under the rare and _‘truly horrifying condition_ ’ of being drained, Sherlock was rapidly becoming antsy. Her quick solution was to share scary stories as a nod to Halloween.

 Ever since she was a young girl wearing pigtails and pink dresses, she had always liked Halloween. While other people saw it as a morose and depressing reminder of the impermanence of humans, she saw it as a celebration of life of both the people long gone and those who still walk the Earth. Having went through many deaths - her favorite grandfather, her only uncle and later on, her father - Halloween became a chance to be with them, or at least stand near their grave site while reminiscing all the good times they shared.

The cute and sweet candies and desserts were a plus.

Seeing people screaming over inaccurate wounds and death scenes are a bonus.

It’s just unfortunate that Sherlock does not hold the same opinion and is now being a killjoy. If it had been any other day, she would have given up and let Sherlock continue to become a creepy shadow in the corner of their flat, but it was a Holiday and she’s determined to have fun.

“Well, if I didn’t know any better, I think you’re _scared_.”

Yes, she went there. _He made her go there._

…

…

“Your petty attempt is not going to work, Molly.”

The pause before his answer was long enough. A small smile crept in her face.

“Then, sit with me and share a story!”

“All of these _scary stories_ that you like to tell, are illogical and/or impossible. You of all people, should know that."   He finally leaned forward, letting the candlelight illuminate his sculpted face.  "And in my opinion, anyone who is snogging in their car at the middle of the night, near a psychiatric hospital that has violent patients and lax security system, deserves to die.”

With his usual flare for dramatics, he moved out of the light and back into the shadows after his passionate declaration. After a moment of processing what he had just said, Molly mirrored his action and slumped into the sofa. Her face however, was not lit with smugness but with disappointment.

“I just thought it would be fun to share stories,” A soft sigh escaped her lips as her voice trailed down. “while cuddling.”

A moment passed before she heard the scraping of clothes and the creaking of a relieved chair. With hooded eyes, she watched as her boyfriend slowly made his way towards her. Soon, the sofa dipped with his weight and an arm draped around her as he pulled her close to him.

“Fine, but you’re the one who is going to tell the story and I demand that I be allowed to interject and criticize any inconsistencies  and errors.”

Molly smiled and nodded.

_Jackpot._

* * *

 

**An hour later.**

Mrs. Hudson slowly made her away to the flat of her favorite occupants. Almost as soon as the power went back on, she ambled towards the stairs to see if she would need to call a repairman again - the dark can bring out things in people, especially someone as volatile and bored as Sherlock Holmes. As she neared the top, she heard the soft voice of Molly Hooper.

“…the only thing that remained, was the red path left by the ooze that trickled down the window pane.”

When her fingers touched the door to the flat, it slowly creaked and opened, alerting the occupants to her presence.

“Oh dears, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just want to check on the both of you, now that the power’s up.”

“Hello Mrs. Hudson!” The bright face of Molly who stood to widen the door, greeted the old landlady. “We’re both fine, thankfully our lone candle was able to hold out. You really didn’t have to check up on us, especially now that the cold must be causing trouble to your hips.”

“Oh it’s nothing dear! My soother is doing a marvelous job. Anyway if there is anything you need, don’t hesitate to tell me.” She patted the hand of the kind woman who finally captured the elusive heart of her dear tenant.

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson. The same goes to you.”

The old lady was about to turn around and go back downstairs when she caught sight of the consulting detective.

“Sherlock dear, are you alright?”

The detective was sitting on the sofa, one hand on his knees while the other was clutching the sofa arm with white knuckles.  It took him a moment to look at her and reply.

“Of course I am fine.” Was his gruff reply before he returned to staring into space.

“Are you sure dear?” The old lady asked as she watched his fingers dig deeper in the leather of the sofa.

“Oh don’t worry about him, Mrs. Hudson.” Molly tried to placate the landlady with a sweet smile.

“We were just sharing… _stories_.”

With that assurance, the old woman headed back downstairs to her flat. She was quick to dismiss the event as Sherlock being in his oddest again. As soon as Mrs. Hudson was out of sight, Molly quickly closed the door before turning around to her boyfriend.

With a sweet smile and delicate voice, she asked him. “Do you want another story, Sherlock?”

She watched as his Adams apple bobbed up and down.

* * *

 

If there is one thing Sherlock Holmes learned that night, it was that, listening to a scary story told by an excellent and seasoned pathologist, wasn’t the same as watching the cliché productions of crap telly.

Suffice to say, he won’t be belittling Halloween stories any longer.


	20. Her gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to that gift?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted: Oct 28 2013

“He never opened my gift.”

A pair of bushy eyebrows rose, so she quickly tried to explain.

“NO, no. I wasn’t snooping around! Well, yeah it was sort of snooping around, but it was a good kind of snooping! I mean, I was looking for some of my tools that he, um… borrowed.”

A look of understanding possessed his face and her shoulders began to relax. Her fingers however, remained restless - twinning and untwinning in a meticulous show of nervousness.

“Both of you were out for a case but Mrs. Hudson allowed me to go up here. She said that I should go ahead and get back what’s mine. I think she thought that with my tools gone, he’d stop experimenting for a while.”

She tried to smile but it quickly fell.

“Anyway, I was looking for my scalpel when I opened his desk drawer. That’s where I saw it, along with other stuff. It was in the corner…”

Her voice fell into near whisper.

“… unopened and dusty”

Her eyes moved to her skirt to focus on a speck of dust that was not there. Her fingers ceased their movements and her shoulders slumped with resignation.

It was heartbreaking to watch.

But for an entirely different reason.

“Mycroft once told me that when he was a kid, he wanted to be a pirate.”

He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees.

“Do you know what pirates have, Molly?”

A soft smile grazed his face.

“A treasure chest.”


	21. Never Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sentiment is a chemical defect, he says.

“Sherlock is someone I can never have.”

Her voice quavered with sadness, but it carried a strong note of finality. If asked, she won’t be able to tell when that statement, that _thought_ , became a fact of her life. All she knows, is that she had resigned to accept it as a universal truth.

He, however, sees it in another way.

“I disagree Ms. Hooper.”

With a practiced air of someone who expertly maneuvers around people and their emotional complexities, a.k.a. ambassadorial galas, he leans forward as he prepares to show her how things really are.

“ I think, it’s the other way around.  _You_ are someone, Sherlock could never have." 

——————-

_The Earth stares longingly at the Moon, in the same way that she stares at the blue and brown brilliance that she can never touch._


	22. Self Preservation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on that scene from Love Actually

“But…you’re always mean to me. You never liked me. You-you just boss me around! You…you insult me and you only compliment me so that you could …get your way!”

“I hope the video is useful. Don’t show it around. John’s camera has awful quality and it obviously needs editing. I have to go. Lestrade has a new case for me.”

_One…two…three steps._

_The door remained shut._

_Silence._

_A deep sigh._

_Why? Why indeed?_

_Now or never._

…

…

“It’s a … self-preservation thing, you see.”

_Thud._

_A closed door._

_Now and never._


	23. Mine Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is really his.
> 
> In fact both of it are his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: OOC to the max. This is actually a continuation of a three year old post that I had rediscovered recently (Chapter 17).
> 
> Posted: Feb 2 2017

**Sherlock:** _*Huffs*_ He won't listen to me.

 **Molly:** _*Gently strokes her husband's cheek*_ Just be patient.

  
**Sherlock:** I have been patient for the last ten minutes!

  
**Molly:** _*Looks out through their open bedroom door and into the silent sitting room*_ Reason with him in the same way you've reasoned with him before. _*Looks back at her frustrated husband*_ You won't be able to do that if you hide here.

  
**Sherlock:** _*Huffs and ruffles his curls*_ I have explained to him. I have reasoned with him. Bargained. Bribed. Even **begged**   _*Points wildly to himself*_ Begged! _*Throws his hand in the air*_ **Me**!

 **Molly:** Sherlock...

 **Sherlock:** _*Looks pleadingly to his wife*_ Please, Molly. I have a case. Lestrade has a case waiting for me. _*Gestures towards the sitting room*_ Waiting for **us**. You have to intervene now.

  
**Molly:** _*Contemplates for a few seconds before nodding*_ Okay, I'll try. _*Grabs something from the bedside table*_ Come on!

_*Husband and wife both goes out of their bedroom and into their sitting room.*_

**John:** _*Quietly sitting in the sofa and staring at the approaching couple*_

 **Molly:** _*Moves towards the center of the room then stops a few feet away from the sofa*_ Hi, John.

 **John:** _*Nods*_ Hello, Molly.

 **Molly:** _*Stares back at her husband before facing John and kneeling*_

 **John:** _*Eyebrows shot up but remains quiet.*_

 **Molly:** _*Smiles softly at John before turning back to stare at her still standing husband*_

 **Sherlock:** _*Huffs but goes and kneels beside his wife*_

 **Molly:** _*Whispers to her husband*_ Why don't you try again?

 **Sherlock:** _*Sighs deeply but bends closer towards the floor*_ I have explained to you using logical reasoning. I have bargained with a fair match. I have bribed with a rich price. And I have 'begged' with utmost sincerity. Still, you remain stub-

 **Molly:** _*Nudges her husband*_ No wonder he won't listen to you! You sound like a nagging robot. My turn. _*Looks straight back before lowering herself closer to the floor*_ Evan, sweetheart, _*She says with a sweet and gentle voice*_ Daddy needs his scarf back now. He and Uncle John have a case and they need to go out to catch the bad guy. But it is cold outside, so he needs his scarf. Would you please give it back to daddy?

 **Sherlock:** _*whispers bitterly*_ How is that any different from what I did?

 **Evan Hooper-Holmes, 11 month old extraordinaire who had been sitting on the floor beside his godfather's leg:** _*clutches his prized possession closer to his body*_ Nooo.

 **Molly:** _*Still smiling sweetly*_ I know you like that scarf sweetie, But Daddy needs it. He'll get sick if you don't give it to him. Do you want daddy to get sick?

 **Sherlock:** _*protests*_ I don't get sick!

 **Molly:** _*turns back to glare at her husband before looking again at their stubborn toddler*_

 **Evan "Ain't-I-the-cutest" Holmes:** _*Looks at his hard-earned price before staring back to his poor daddy who is now wearing his "have-pity-on-me" face*_ Noooooo, ba scaffy ain!

 **Molly:** _*leans closer to her baby and touches the edge of the blue scarf*_ I know, it's your sweetheart -

 **Sherlock:** _*protests*_ It's mine!

 **Molly:** _*looks back again to glare at her husband*_

 **Sherlock:** _*sags in resignation*_ Fine...

 **Molly:** _*Smiles back at her son.*_ I know it's yours sweetheart so maybe you can let daddy use it for now? So that he won't get sick?

 **Evan "I-have-the-British-government-wrapped-in-my-pudgy-fingers-even-if-he-denies-it" Holmes:** _*Looks down at his precious treasure*_

 **Molly:** _*Sees her baby boy's resolve breaking down*_ Tell you what Evan, while you are lending Daddy the scarf, I'll lend to you Mommy's scarf. _*offers her possession that she had snatched before exiting their bedroom*_

 **Evan "I-can-make-the-girls-swoon-faster-than-my-three-continents-godfather" Holmes:** _*Sees the elusive but equally, if not more precious treasure, goes to throw away the blue scarf and grab the pink one*_ Eyyyyyy.

 **Sherlock:** _*Sees how easy it is for his son to discard his scarf in favor of his mom's, starts to get competitive*_ **That** _*points at his discarded scarf*_ is a vintage Paul Smith cashmere scarf that is not produced anymore! Meanwhile, **that**   _*points at the black and pink scarf now being chomped by his son*_ is just a home knitted scarf that your mother's spinster aunt give out every year! Spawn, you clearly still need a lesson in taste!

 **Evan "I-can-make-anything-my-division" Holmes:** _*Stops and stares at his father*_

 **Sherlock:** _*stares back at his mini-me, willing him to understand how far superior his scarf is over that of Molly's*_

 **Evan "genius-in-the-making" Holmes:** _*Giggles at his silly father before taking a bigger bite of his recent acquisition*_

 **John:** _*Stands up from the sofa and retrieves his best-friend's discarded scarf*_ Come on, man! You've clearly lost this one. At least now you have your **cashmere**  scarf back _*Drops the scarf on the head of the still kneeling consulting detective*_

  
**Molly:** _*Giggling at the sour look of her husband*_ Come on, Sherlock. At least you got it back!

 **Sherlock:** _*Stands up and finally loops the scarf in his neck*_ I don't even need this, I don't get sick anyway!

 **John:** _*Waiting outside the flat's door*_ Then why did you spend 10 minutes **begging**  to get it back?

 **Sherlock:** _*bends down to kiss his wife goodbye*_ Principles, John. Principles.

 **John:** _*Snorts*_ More like, your costume won't be complete without it.

 **Sherlock:** _*Moves on to ruffling his son's curls before straightening up and exiting the flat*_ As I said. Principles.


End file.
